Fleeting Summer
by Sarcastic Texan
Summary: How will Joe, Charles, and the rest of the crew spend the rest of their summer after the E.T. leaves Lillian? How are they going to live with such a big secret for the rest of their lives? Multiple pairings (the boys & OCs). T for language and suggestive-ness.
1. At Midnight

**A/N: I absolutely _love _the movie _Super 8_, so I wrote a story about it. Multiple OCs, a bit of action, and the future will unfold in _Fleeting Summer_. I do not own Super 8.**

* * *

_**Chapter 1: At Midnight**_

_-One Month Later-_

A brown-haired, fair-faced boy breathes softly in his sleep, sweating through the thin cotton sheets that separate him from the stifling heat that has built up in the room, thanks to the sorry excuse of an air conditioner his father had installed in the small house.

It had breathed its final breaths of cool air the previous morning, sputtering, choking, and then kicking out.

His friend, also brown-haired but considerably larger, is not at all bothered by the heat and lies on the floor under a comforter.

He stares intently at the ceiling, as though the answers to all his questions will appear before his eyes upon the plaster.

"Joe," he says, after some hesitation. "What do you think is gonna happen now?"

Joe, a light sleeper, manages to grasp the true depth behind his friend's question, despite the late hour.

"I don't know, Charles." Joe replies. "Maybe something better."

* * *

Preston shifts uncomfortably under his scratchy blankets, mind racing.

He goes home tomorrow.

No more linear equation races or long division relays.

No more math camp.

Back to filming.

Preston couldn't wait.

* * *

Louis Dainard opens the door a crack and holds his breath as he peers into his daughter's room.

As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he makes out the small, willowy shape of Alice Dainard as she sleeps, covers pulled up to her chin, and lets out a small sigh of relief.

_She is home._ He thinks.

_She is safe._

_I will keep her safe._

* * *

Cary stares down at the blindingly white piece of paper in his hands, eyes skimming the lines of slanted text.

It's a letter...

...from his dad.

The image of his father is now a very old, very worn picture in Cary's mind, blurred at the edges and faded in the middle.

Whenever Cary thinks of his father, he always pictures him in the same tailored military dress uniform, waving goodbye before climbing into a pristine government vehicle and driving away.

His mother manages a small smile, which seems to make the whole scene even sadder as a tear slides down her cheek.

Cary sniffles once, then composes himself, as he carefully tears the letter into strips and rolls himself a new M-80.

It will be fun to blow that one up.

* * *

After spending one long hour tossing and turning, Martin groans and gives into the fact that he is still awake.

He sits up, stretches, and climbs out of bed. He creeps down the hallway to the bathroom and shuts the door before turning on the light.

He blinks a few times in the brightness, then stares at his reflection in the mirror. He grimaces a little when he notices how his pale skin is illuminated in the light, and how freckled his bare chest and shoulders are.

There are dark circles under his eyes, the result of one restless night too many.

The nightmares were getting worse-whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the tanks coming towards him, the guns flashing in his direction.

A familiar feeling rose up in his stomach, although Martin fought hard to keep it down.

_I will not throw up._

He told himself.

_I will not throw up._

Then he closed his eyes again and saw an explosion light up a kitchen, and remembered the blinding pain of his leg breaking all over again.

He didn't even make it to the toilet this time.

**A/N: Review, por favor!**


	2. Moving Girl

**A/N: Disclaimer: I don't own Super 8. **

With Preston back in Lillian, production could continue.

The group met on a street corner a few blocks away from the steel mill and listened as Charles explained the scene.

The film festival had come and passed-Charles' movie had gotten second prize, and the young directer was satisfied with his first feature. He had moved on to a new genre all together: Aliens.

In the new movie, aliens and humans were engaged in a breathless struggle for earth.

"This has gotta be mint you guys—I don't want to be here all day." Charles says. "In this scene Preston sees the newspaper article and realizes he's being watched."

The group nods as Joe opens his makeup kit to touch up on the shiny white powder he has already applied to Cary and Alice's faces.

"Shouldn't there be more aliens?" Alice asks, reaching up to touch her pointed fake ears again.

Charles sighs, as though it should obvious to her. "We only need two right now because Preston is just being watched. We'll get more later, for the abduction."

"Well who else, then?" Alice says.

"Evan, Harry..."

"Didn't you hear?" Cary interrupts. "Evan is on vacation in Florida and he's not getting back till the week before school—there's no way he can do it."

"Yeah, and Harry is at church camp until August." Joe says.

"Are you shitting with me? How come nobody said anything till now?" Charles exclaims.

"We thought you knew!" Martin says, briefly lookin up from his lines.

"Well obviously I didn't!" Charles cries.

Before the director can have a full-blown meltdown, Alice intervenes.

"Charles, calm down. I can talk to a couple of my friends. They'll help out."

Charles takes a deep breath and nods in thanks. "Okay. Places people!" he finishes setting up the camera and yells action just as a large, boxy truck drives behind them and down the street.

"Cut!" Charles sighs. "The damn truck ruined the frame."

"Do you think it's the feds?" Joe asks quietly.

"No. Their trucks were red with those three white dots." Preston replies, staring at the truck as it rumbles away.

"I think it was a moving van." Martin says.

"No way, Smartin." Cary teases. Why would anyone move _here?_"

"I'll bet you a bag of Twizzlers it was a moving van." Martin says.

The two shake hands and get back into position.

"Action!"

Preston begins walking down the sidewalk, slowly passing in front of the lens.

Charles and Joe shuffle behind him, slowly following with the camera and the boom mic until he stops at the designated shop window, looks at the newspaper article, and glances around.

"Cut!"Charles shouts. "That was great. Let's get another angle-this time, with the aliens."

They spend the next couple of hours getting more shots, using up four rolls of film before Charles calls it a day and puts the camera away.

"Where are you guys going?" Alice asks as Cary and Martin start heading down the street.

"We're gonna go see where that truck went."

Joe and Charles follow the bickering pair down the street, but Alice and Preston begin to head home. Alice had promised her father she'd make dinner and Preston didn't want to upset his parents by staying out late.

As Cary, Martin, Joe, and Charles continue walking, the brick buildings of Lillian slowly turn from businesses to houses, and the group finds themselves treading among the white-picket fences of a cozy neighborhood.

They found the truck easily, as it was a small neighborhood, and much to Martin's delight, the words _Marv's Moving Co._ are printed in bold black text across the hood of the truck, visible even from a distance.

"Told you, Cary." Martin says with a smirk. "I'll be taking my Twizzlers now."

"Not so fast, Smartin. What if it's a front? What if it's a government truck _disguised_ as a moving van?" Cary says, walking closer and closer to the truck.

"You are so full of shit Cary." Martin calls after him.

"Come on, man. Don't be a pussy." Cary disappears behind the truck.

Martin groans, but reluctantly finds himself following.

Together they peer into the back of the truck. A few cardboard boxes are stacked against one wall while larger pieces of wooden furniture are strategically packed into the truck like puzzle pieces, fitting into one another as to not take up too much space.

"See, Cary? A moving van!" Martin says.

Cary glares at his dark-haired friend, but says nothing.

"Okay, it's a moving van—can we get out of here now?" Preston says, the discomfort audible in his tone.

"What's the rush, boys?" says an unfamiliar voice. The group freezes, and slowly they turn to contributor of said voice.

She could have been Alice's doppelganger, only she wasn't. Her nose was a bit larger, her hair a bit more golden, and her eyes more intense than Alice's soft hazel ones. She reminded you of Alice, but she wasn't Alice at all.

The girl rolls her eyes at their gaping mouths and wide-eyed stares and climbs into the truck.

"I really hope you didn't steal anything because the guns are already in the house." she says, picking up a box.

"We're not thieves—uh—ma'am." Charles stutters.

"We just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!" Cary says with a wide brace-faced smile.

The blonde considers the lie. "I'll consider myself welcomed, then. Now either ya'll can help with some of these boxes or you can get off my property."

Remembering that, yes, they are trespassing, a few of the boys grudgingly take a few boxes and start up the lawn.

"Be careful with that one." The girl says as she passes Charles.

"It's heavy—what's in here?" he grunts.

Just as he begins to lift one of the flaps, she cries, "No don't—" and watches in bewilderment as Charles loses his hold on the box and lets it fall to the ground.

It bursts open and dozens of papers come fluttering out.

"I told you to be careful!" The girl exclaims. She catches most of them in the air, and gladly accepts the help Martin and Charles offer in catching the rest.

The chunky brown-haired boy mutters apologies, but she is too busy to notice.

"What are these?" Joe asks, taking one of the thin white sheets and squinting at the sloppy cursive writing on it.

"Just—some things I wrote." the blonde grumbles, stuffing papers back into the box.

Charles looks at the page in Joe's hand. "This is good." he says. "This is _mint_."

It's a page of fragments of phrases, and on the back, a poem with many lines scratched out.

The girl makes a face at Charles's odd terminology and snatches the paper away. "It's just a rough draft."

She begins to walk inside again, before Charles calls after her. "You wouldn't happen to do movie scripts, would you?"

She turns back, intrigued. "I've done a few... why?"

"Because I'm directing a movie and I could really use a writer." Charles blurts. "It's-it's about aliens—our friend Martin is one of the actors," Charles gestures to Martin, "Joe does special effects, and Cary is one of the aliens." He introduces them in turn.

The girl nods gazing at the motley crew in front of her."So _that_ explains Suit Man over there," Martin blushes, "And why brace face looks like he just came from Comic-con-no offense." In his haste, Cary had forgotten he was still wearing his movie makeup.

"I'm Charles." Charles sticks out his hand.

"Elaine." she says. "Now since I know you're _not_ the welcoming committee, and it's getting pretty late," Elaine gestures towards the setting sun, "I'd suggest ya'll get home. But stop by tomorrow if you still need a writer."

Elaine begins to gather up the boxes, and the quartet takes this as their cue to leave.

"Oh, and Martin?" she says as the tall boy passes by. "The fedora works on you." she smiles at him one last time before she disappears into the house.

Martin blushes all the way home.


End file.
